


Training Heat

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 07:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15769188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Nyx has been trying to contain himself all day





	Training Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted over at my Tumblr

Training was never meant to be an easy thing. Noctis knew that. He understood the reason that Nyx never when easy on him, the reason that he spent more time laid out in the dust of the training yards, pressed against the ground still warm from the day’s sun beating down on it. He knew, technically, that he should be glad for the challenge and the skill and the brutality Nyx brought into each session. 

He knew, logically, that he should learn from each and every bruise and scrape and flirt with stasis. That there was a gratitude expected of him. Even as he slid down the shattered stone tower that occupied the centre of the training grounds. As he dropped to his knees while his head spun and his back ached from impact, and he could swear he tasted copper on his breath. 

“Why do you hate me?”

“Why in the world would I hate you?” 

Nyx grinned as he straightened himself out. He rolled the shoulder he had used to check Noctis into the stone, to break through the prince’s carefully drilled defences with the brutality of a veteran. He offered his hand to the prince to drag him back up, taking the shake of the younger man’s head as a sign of defeat in this match. He was used to seeing Noctis’ shoulders slump, and feel the quick successive taps to his arm or leg to let him know to release his hold. He was used to watching Noctis scrabble for purchase when he was too stubborn to give in; too determined to win to give up looking for an opening. 

Noctis accepted the offered hand, gripped it tight, and sacrificed his balance to kick the Glaive’s legs out from under him. He twisted them both. And with a short, controlled warp to regain himself first, had Nyx pinned in the dust on his back. 

“Maybe because you keep slamming me against every solid surface you can find?”

“You love it, little king.” Nyx accepted the pin; let his hands fall back rather than fight the exhausted prince straddling his hips. He felt the pressure of the prince’s knees pressed to his sides, the surety in the young man’s balance and hands holding him down. 

“Love it?” Noctis made no indication of moving, pressing hard against Nyx’s shoulders to keep the man flat on the ground; “I’m hot, I’m exhausted, and I’m sore. I’ll probably be bruised tomorrow, and I was supposed to go to the beach with Prompto.”

Nyx rolled his hips to dislodge Noctis, to unbalance him enough to get up again. He offered his hand again with a warning look as Noctis released him. “Quit whining, highness.”

There were plenty of protocols in place regarding Noctis’ lessons and training. The Shield and Ignis handled what they could, but there was only so much of the king’s magic that they understood. There were only so many training rooms where the prince could really test the limits of his own powers before the Citadel came crashing down on him. 

Nyx was the most talented of the Glaives, when he wanted to be. He could keep up. He could understand the burn of the magic beneath his skin and through his muscles. He understood what Noctis meant when the prince was restless and impatient and said that he felt the power in his blood would consume him. 

Nyx understood that Noctis was never taught how to fight dirty. 

The Shield was all about honour and nobility. He taught stances and drills and routine. It was the discipline of the Crownsguard that had been drilled through cadets and students and recruits not strong enough to meet the Kingsglaive standards. There were traditions to uphold in the Shield’s training— a multitude of weapons and schedules that fit the perfect image of royalty the Citadel offered. 

Noctis had needed more than that. 

Two years ago, Noctis never would have thought to trip Nyx as he had. He would have never thought to try to lure Nyx into the confines of the broken stone tower, or to pull up clouds of warm dust to blind his opponent— magic crackling through the minuscule stones buried in the grains. He would have never thought to fight like a Glaive, rather than a Guard— to kick when weapons failed, to claw and shock and burn, until his magic failed him in his inexperience. He would have stood his ground with the same stubborn pride as his Shield, rather than freeze the ground beneath Nyx to take the wind from him as he fell hard after a warp strike to his chest. 

Nyx still resented the bruises from that one. 

But he could admire the bruises on the prince’s pale skin now. Now, in the confines of the quiet showers, long after the Glaives have left for the day. Noctis did not train with others. That had been a requirement for these exercises. 

Noctis was trained alone, regardless of the drill. 

Even his Shield waited to be called for pick up. 

They both appreciated the quiet and privacy in the open showers meant to be shared between all of the recruits in a shift. 

“Stop staring, hero. This is your fault.”

“I will definitely take the blame for that.”

Nyx grinned as Noctis stripped for the showers, the training closed tossed aside to be dealt with later. The prince had long since learnt that brushing the dust off would do nothing to save whatever damage the clothes had taken. He had learnt long ago that it was much more fun to simply strip down and let Nyx catch up. 

“Coming, Ulric?”

Nyx was already adjusting the spray, half dressed and testing the water with a hand. “Not yet.”

“That was bad.”

With one quick movement, before either could slip on the tiled shower floor, Nyx pressed Noctis to the empty wall between the faucets. Where only the mist from the spray reached them. The cold tile was a soothing balm compared to the sun-warmed ground outside, and the echo of the water around them— falling, draining, beating in a steady stream against the tile— filled the room to drown out the reminders of where they were. Here, alone, Nyx could see the red where there would be bruises later. Where Noctis would be sore and stiff and whining in the morning. 

He could see his handiwork on the prince, just as much as the new marks on his own flesh stood out. 

“You’d think we hated each other,” Nyx mused, leaning down to add a few lighter marks to Noctis, shoulder. 

“You keep teasing and I just might.”

There had been a heat to the day. A warmth that rested in them both, stirred to a boil with their match out in the sun. They had spent days wrapped up in their duties; passing each other in the Citadel at odd hours, crossing paths with stolen moments and stolen kisses interrupted by an impatient Ignis. 

Here, they had the drowning echo and splash of water to cool them down. They had freedom from prying eyes and schedules and appointments and routines. 

“I’ll take you home, tonight,” Nyx said between kisses along Noctis’ throat, jaw, lips; “little star.”

“Your home? Or mine?”

“Yours is closest.”

Whatever Noctis was going to say was lost in the kiss Nyx had been tempted by all day. The heat the had been building and churning throughout the afternoon and then the training, with every stolen touch and smile and laugh.


End file.
